


another short plane ride through the sky

by serendipitee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Lipstick, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitee/pseuds/serendipitee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn't how Zayn expected his day to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	another short plane ride through the sky

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna go ahead and blame [this](http://cunniallingual.tumblr.com/post/36753044907/whos-going-to-write-the-fic-where-someones) completely. Title from Frank Ocean's "Lost".

“Wow, Zee, I didn’t think red was your color.”

“Are you saying I look dashing?” Zayn smirks over at Louis’s reflection, mouth feeling gummy and slick under the bright lipstick, like he’d forgotten to brush his teeth that morning. He licks over the rouge, and it’s always surprised him how bad it actually tastes—when he’d seen all the corals and pinks and reds in Doniya’s makeup trunk when he was little, he’d thought they’d taste like candy, sweet and yummy, because why else would she wear them?  Instead, the cosmetic is waxy and sort of sour underneath his tongue. The grimace shows, because Louis is huffing out a laugh next to him as he rubs one of the lighter shades over his own lips.

It’s striking, Zayn finds himself thinking, Louis wearing lipstick.  He likes what it does to the other boy’s lips—he subconsciously pouts a little more after putting it on, emphasizes that pretty mouth.

The problem is in Zayn staring too long, because when it comes to Louis even the slightest bit of eye contact can get you into trouble.  As it is this time, there’s only a flash of a grin and Louis is jumping on him and toppling both of them to the floor while the three other boys are screaming and running around and generally drawing enough attention so that even if Zayn had shrieked for assistance he would have been ignored.

At first, Zayn has no idea what Louis is trying to do.  He’s just pressing a kiss to Zayn’s cheek like he does every other day, but no— _ew_ , no, now he’s rubbing his lips all over Zayn’s cheekbone and leaving waxy red all over his skin that’s going to be hell to wash off later. The younger tries to push up at Louis’s shoulder, but to no avail—so he switches to fingers dancing along sides, and Louis is the most ticklish person in the band so within seconds Zayn is grappling him to the floor and returning the favor.  The fiery red looks sort of fantastic even smeared all over Louis’s face.

Louis leans up in that split-second of admiration and bites at Zayn’s neck, “shit, Lou!”, and still looks smug even as Zayn is pressing his wrists into the carpet, pushing them above his head so he can smear his lipstick even more across Louis’s face.  He’s laughing, Zayn feels, ribcage rattling happily underneath Zayn’s chest, and Zayn can’t stop himself from joining in. He smacks a kiss to Louis’s nose, cackles at the way it rings around the pointy tip of it. “You look like Rudolph!”

Louis attempts to struggle out of Zayn’s grip around his wrists, frowning so intensely that Zayn knows he’s trying desperately not to laugh. “You look like. A broccoli.”

Zayn looks down at the green OnePiece he’s in and snorts. “Good one.”

A knee gets into his side somehow, though, and knocks him off of Louis with alarming efficiency. “Jesus, Loui—get off, you twat!” he laughs, because Louis is already crawling all over him, elbows and knees on the defensive in case Zayn tries anything again, biting at his neck again and surely leaving some horrendous looking love bites, made more incriminating by the lipstick.  He presses his lips to Zayn’s jaw, rubs his mouth against the stubble, and Louis knows how hard that’s going to be to wash out, the little fucker.  Zayn turns his head to tell him exactly how much he hates him, but instead

instead his lips catch against Louis’s, and the world stands still for the tiniest second before a bubble of a laugh floats out of Louis’s mouth into Zayn’s, and any chance at being awkward around anyone for the rest of his life was broken the day Zayn met Louis anyway.  Louis kisses at his mouth again, and why not, Zayn thinks.  The colors of their lipsticks probably look good mixed together anyway.  He’s still laughing, trying to buck Louis off of him, and one time, it actually works.  

This time when they roll over, Zayn straddles the older boy, pins his arms down harder and when he kisses Louis again, he only has a huff of a laugh to exchange with Louis’s quieting giggles.  Louis tries weakly to pull his wrists out of Zayn’s grip, but when it doesn’t work he just leaves them there, splayed above his head in the soft carpet.  

Zayn leans down to kiss him once more, and now instead of laughing Louis lets out a soft sound, opens his mouth further, and Zayn caves without a second thought.  He licks inside slowly, testing the waters, and when Louis makes another noise and arches into it, Zayn lets his tongue venture a little further.  His nose bumps with Louis’s, and he can feel the ice almost shattering until Louis worms his hands out of Zayn’s grip.  

For the first time, Zayn’s terrified of the thought of Louis leaving him alone.  But when Louis gets his hands free, the only thing he does is curl his fingers into the hair at the back of Zayn’s head. They tilt in different degrees to different sides, and the lipstick on Louis’s lips tastes just as bad as Zayn’s, but the quiet, labored breathing beneath him is working pretty well at forcing his heart rate to pick up speed.  Zayn bites at Louis’s lower lip and the older boy straight up _moans_ , like something out of a B-rate porno, and Zayn is so fucked.  Not because he’s afraid of getting caught—the merry band of idiots (excluding the two of them, of course) had careened out of the room sometime between “broccoli joke Louis” and “pornographic Louis”—but because he’s afraid of what’s going to happen next.

He’s got a habit for getting addicted to things, you see.  Tattoos first, then smoking—he’s not looking to add “lipstick and making out with Louis” to that list.

But he might not have a choice.  At least not while his spine is tingling with the sounds that are coming out of Louis and certainly not while he’s still got hands in Zayn’s hair.

Louis is squirming underneath him, panting, utterly desperate judging by the way that his eyes look, wide and dilated, eyelashes fanned out and beckoning with every sweep shut. Zayn must be spending too much time staring because there’s a worry line furrowing into the skin between Louis’s eyebrows, and he looks as if he’s torn between pushing Zayn off of him and running and begging for him to _do something_.  

Zayn does something.  He licks into Louis’s mouth further, leaves a smoldering kiss against his mouth before working his lips against Louis’s jawline and up underneath, interested in the way stubble feels against his mouth.  Louis tilts his head back, humming in assent, letting Zayn kiss down the soft skin of his neck.  There’s red trailing off of Zayn’s mouth onto the pale flesh there—the sight of it pulls hard at the arousal stirring in his stomach, jolts it further along.

The younger boy pulls away to reposition himself, but before he can, there’s a hand around his wrist. “Don’t.” It’s the first time Louis’s talked in a while, and he sounds wrecked. 

Zayn pulls Louis’s fingers off of his arm and squeezes them. “I’m not.”  He shifts to kneel between Louis’s legs and almost panics at the thought of what he’s about to do before he looks back up at Louis, who is giving him the same wide-eyed look he can feel on his own face. “Yeah?”

Louis slumps back against the floor. “ _Please_.”

Zayn’s hands are a little shaky as he unzips Louis’s OnePiece, but it’s nothing compared to the the way Louis’s stomach trembles underneath his fingers. Zayn kisses against his abdomen as it flutters in anticipation, making quiet shushing noises to calm his friend’s nerves.  He doesn’t know what’s going to come after this, that’s true—but why does that mean they shouldn’t try it anyway?

Zayn has never really done this before, but he knows what he likes in a blowjob so he goes for it with guns blazing, wraps lips around the head of Louis’s cock and just sucks. “ _Shit_ ,” rattles Louis, and when Zayn looks up at his face through his eyelashes Louis’s eyes are wide and his chest is heaving like he can’t catch his breath. “Your fucking mouth, Zee, _fuck_.”

He bobs his head experimentally, and the lipstick actually makes it easier for his mouth to slide along Louis’s dick than he was expecting.  His other hand goes for the space further down, runs opposite Zayn’s so that when he’s all the way down his fist is touching his mouth.  The sounds that forces out of Louis are roaring in Zayn’s ears and shuddering down his spine, filling up his cock almost painfully fast.  

A hand finds its way into Zayn’s hair and _pulls_ , and fuck all if that didn’t make him moan pitifully around Louis’s dick, which, wow, he didn’t know about that before now.  Louis’s hand curls into a loose fist in Zayn’s hair. “Like getting your hair pulled, don’t you?” Louis murmurs, voice low and gravelly. It gives Zayn goosebumps, makes him ache even worse, and with Louis’s fingertips brushing against his scalp he already feels precariously close to coming in his stupidly bright OnePiece.

“Like you,” he pulls off to mumble. “Like the way you’re shivering.”  And Louis is, still, limbs trembling minutely. Zayn’s eyes flicker to his face. “Like the way that lipstick looks on you.”  

Louis is looking wide at him like he’s treading on thin ice, but Zayn’s got a hand on his cock and he’d settled it sometime between undoing Louis’s zipper and actually putting lips on his dick—if _that_  wasn’t going to ruin them, then there was no way telling Louis just how gorgeous he really was would.

And he does look gorgeous, flushed all the way down his chest, lips puffed up from laughing kisses underneath the lipstick, a flashy, fun shade of red that fits him to a T.  It’s worn off a little bit, and Zayn wonders how much of it is smeared across his face and neck and how much of it is on Zayn’s lips now.  He wonders aloud how much of his own he got on Louis’s dick, and when Louis comes it dribbles out from between red-painted lips.

If he steals it out of Louise’s make up bag later, that color— _Lady Danger_ , it’s called, and Zayn tries his hardest not to laugh at how ridiculous and _accurate_ that is—and keeps it in his pocket only to drop in Louis’s lap the next time they’re alone, well.  No one has to know.


End file.
